Ghost Rider
by elfinblue
Summary: Dean, Sam, and a human Cas investigate an old amusement park connected with a series of gruesome deaths. Set in season 9, so spoilers for all aired episodes. No pairings. NO SLASH. Rated T for gore and probable future language.
1. Chapter 1

**Ghost Rider**

by

_Elfinblue_

**Summary:** Dean, Sam, and a human Cas investigate a series of gruesome deaths in a small coastal town. The only common denominator is that the victims had all recently visited a local, reputedly haunted, amusement park. This is set in season nine, but I have no idea how they intend to treat the whole fallen angels/ Abbadon thing so I'm not going to deal with that angle. This is just an ordinary hunt. Based on the spoilers they've fed us so far, Cas is human, Sam got better, and Bobby is back (don't know how) and holed up in the Batcave library with a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and a salt-loaded shotgun for any idjit that bothers him unnecessarily.

**Spoilers:** All seasons plus what I've been able to follow from what's come out of Comic Con 2013.

**Pairings:** None. No slash.

**Warnings:** Clowns.

Rated T because Dean and Sam and, you know, clowns . . .

**Disclaimer:** Even if I have acquired a Jeremy Carver voodoo doll, which I am not admitting, I will not use it unless he makes me.

**SPN** **SPN** **SPN**

**Ghost Rider**

**Chapter One: Die Laughing**

"In the Middle Ages," Cas said, "entire towns and villages would be wiped out by the plague. By the time anyone came to bury the bodies, nothing would be left but skeletons. Of course, the same has often been true of battlefields, where the survivors were either too few to deal with the casualties or too busy pursuing their conflict. Since the dawn of time, the human skeleton has been a symbol of fear and loss and death. So I don't understand why a dancing skeleton should make a suitable adornment for the gateway to a place of amusement."

Dean and Sam Winchester stood beside him, the three of them staring up at the entrance to the "Skeleton Cove Amusement Park - Family FUN! FUN! FUN! for children of ALL ages!" A dancing skeleton atop the sign grinned at them and waggled a top hat and, improbably, thick, black eyebrows.

"People are whacked," Dean said simply.

"That is the same thing you said when I asked why the sign on an establishment that sold barbecued pork sandwiches featured a smiling pig in a barbecue apron waving a string of sausages."

"And it still holds just as true." He switched his attention to his younger brother. "You good?"

Sam, staring with thinly-veiled horror at the giant clown face they were going to have to walk through, took a deep breath and gave a manly whimper and a resolute nod.

"All right, then." Dean cracked his knuckles determinedly. "Let's do this!"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

_The day before . . ._

"According to his wife, he was having a nightmare and fell out of bed."

"FBI agents" Hughes, Dewey, and Lewis ("Huey, Dewey and Louie, Dean? Really?") stared down with solemn dismay at the earthly remains of one Egbert Fitzwaller. Lewis reached out a finger to poke at the shattered corpse and Dewey quickly smacked it down. Lewis looked contrite and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Hughes, a giant of a man with a boyish face and a flop of unprofessional brown hair, frowned at the body. "Fell out of bed?"

"What was he sleeping on," Dewey asked, "the Empire State Building?"

"Waterbed," the coroner said laconically. "Eighteen inch drop onto a carpeted floor. Shag carpeting. Very retro. With a thick pad. Soaked up the blood like you wouldn't believe."

"The sheriff said there were other odd deaths recently?" Hughes asked.

The coroner nodded, slid Fitzwaller's drawer back into its slot and pulled out another, exposing a second mangled corpse.

"Deedee McCulloch. She was alone at the time of her death, so we have no eyewitness account to go on." He pulled off the sheet. "From her appearance, she seems to have been trampled to death."

"By horses?" Dewey asked.

"Among other things. There are numerous hoof marks on the body. I had to consult a zoologist to identify them all. If my source is to be believed, she was run down by a mixed herd of horses, zebras, antelope, and elephants."

"Elephants?" Hughes exclaimed.

The coroner pulled the sheet back further and indicated a place on the victim's left hip where the body had been crushed flat in a large circle.

Hughes and Dewey pulled back, mouths drawn down in matching expressions of disgust. Lewis, who was watching them closely, quickly imitated them.

"Where was she when they found her?" Dewey asked. "Zoo? Open field somewhere? City street?"

"Elevator."

"Elevator?!"

"Seven-story building in the business district downtown. Security cameras in the lobby and outside the elevators on every floor. I'm just the coroner, you know. I don't really have anything to do with the actual investigation. But a buddy of mine on the force told me they have video of her getting on in the lobby and then, two minutes and fourteen seconds later, they have video of the doors opening on the fifth floor to," he gestured towards the corpse, "that."

"And the third death?" Dewey asked.

"Already released the body to the family. Cremation. Not that they had much choice, though it is a bit ironic."

"Ironic how?"

"Well, he drowned."

Hughes and Dewey exchanged a look. "Drowned in what?" Hughes asked.

"Water cooler. Granted it was a pretty big water cooler. He was still pretty squished, though. Of course, the real question is how he got inside."

"A water cooler," Dewey said. "Let me just see if I've got this straight. You're talking about one of those big plastic bottles that sit in a refrigerated holder and empty into a spigot at the bottom?"

"Yup. Twenty-gallon bottle. The only opening's a hole the size of a fifty-cent piece."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"The park opened in 1853 as Wilburton's Picnic and Exposition Park," Sam said, stopping on the path to study the outside of the park. They had already gone over this the night before, but Dean had seen the clown face too and decided to cut his brother some slack.

"And there've been how many deaths here since it opened?"

"Dozens." Sam sighed. "I went over the research again this morning while you guys were out picking up breakfast. Found a few more incidents, including seventeen people who died from food poisoning after a church picnic in 1876, a six-year-old who died in the hospital from a head injury she got falling off the Merry-Go-Round in the fifties and a would-be prankster who drowned in the Tunnel of Love in 1972."

"Geez!" Dean said. "All that in addition to the eleven people who've fallen off roller coasters, the twenty-six who were killed when the Ferris Wheel blew over in 1914, the six who died in the 1981 Sky Train crash, at least twenty swimmers who've drowned off the coast here and the entire crew of the _Jezebel_?" The _Jezebel_ was a triple-masted schooner that went down in a storm in the seventeen hundreds. The bodies had washed ashore on what was now the Skeleton Cove Park swimming beach. "They ought to call this place Death Valley. Their motto could be 'you'll die laughing'!"

"Don't forget the murder victims," Cas said in his deep voice.

Sam flinched and Dean bit back a grin, amused in spite of himself.

"There's no reason to think they're connected to this," Sam objected. "They were all killed elsewhere. There's not even any reason to believe they all visited here during their lives."

"Yes," Cas persisted. "But their bodies were buried just outside the fence and their killer did work here."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "But, you know, Sam," he put in helpfully (or at least, if asked, he would have claimed he was being helpful), "there's no reason to think he was wearing his clown costume during the actual murders."

"I hate you both so much," Sam said.

"Yeah, we know," Dean grinned.

"I can't believe, after having to deal with the negative publicity of one of their clowns being a serial killer, that they'd keep the clown motif! Paired with skeletons, no less!"

"It happened eighty years ago," Dean pointed out reasonably. "I'm pretty sure they figure most people have forgotten it by now."

"Look on the bright side," Cas offered. "In the aftermath of the Killer Clown fiasco, they probably take care to screen the clowns they employ for mental instability."

"Not much point to that," Dean countered. "Who in their right mind would want to be a clown?"

Sam and Cas considered his point and then, reluctantly, they both nodded. It was just the kind of logic you couldn't argue with.

"So," Dean said, "are we going to go through the big, scary clown gate so we can get inside the park and work this case or what?"

Sam huffed and bitchfaced him and strode off determinedly towards the gate, leaving his brother and the former angel behind.

"You think he'll make it through the gate all right?" Cas asked as they stood and watched him go.

"Probably not."

"Oh? Why not?"

Dean held up three small card stock rectangles. "Because I've got our tickets."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Immediately inside the gate there was a landscaped area, like a large patio, with a mermaid fountain surrounded by trees and benches. Souvenir stands around the perimeter sold hats, shirts, maps of the park, umbrellas and all sorts of stuffed animals and knickknacks emblazoned with the park logo. There was a place to rent strollers and wheelchairs and an old-fashioned ice cream parlor.

Dean bought a map of the park and they headed for their first stop: the Merry-Go-Round. It was late summer. School had started and they'd come on a weekday morning. There was no line for the ride, with only a few toddlers on board, mostly accompanied by parents or babysitters. Business was slow enough that the ride attendants were letting people ride for as long as they wanted, only stopping now and again so that people could board or dismount.

The three hunters stood beside the whirling platform and observed.

"Horses, zebra, antelope and an elephant," Sam nodded.

They boarded when the ride stopped again and Dean took his homemade EMF meter out of his pocket. He had the sound turned down low enough that they couldn't hear it over the bright calliope melody, but they didn't need to hear the beeping. Every light on the meter was lit. Sam knelt under cover of tying his shoes and examined the hooves on the nearest wooden horse.

"Does this look like bloodstains to you?"

His brother bent down and studied the dark spatters marring the shiny wood. "Yeah, that ain't weird at all."

They got off when the ride stopped again and paused to regroup.

"So what?" Sam asked. "The little girl who fell off in the fifties, you think?"

"That would explain the woman in the elevator," Cas said, "but what of the other deaths?"

"Water cooler guy could be connected to one of the water rides," Dean suggested. "Fitzwaller looked to me like he fell off a roller coaster."

Sam frowned. "So, what? You're thinking multiple vengeful spirits? And why now? I mean, yeah, this park has a long, dark history. But the weird deaths only started up a couple of weeks ago."

"Something's changed. We need to find out what."

Cas nodded off to his left. The park was expanding towards the north and a new giant roller coaster was under construction, the skeletal framework visible above a sturdy board fence.

"It could be connected," Sam agreed. "But that whole area is off limits to park visitors. Whatever our victims encountered, they encountered it here."

"We should split up," Dean suggested. "Talk to people, look around, ride a few rides and see what happens. I'll take the roller coasters and the water rides and you two can have the kiddie rides and the concessions."

"You just want an excuse to ride rides all day while we do all the legwork," Sam accused.

Dean grinned. "You guys can ride rides too, you know. Why, I'll bet with the both of you turning the wheel, you can make those teacups spin like crazy." He turned away and disappeared quickly in the light, midday crowd, his blue flannel overshirt quickly lost among the moving mosaic of colors.

Cas stepped closer to Sam. "You realize he's taken all the rides that we have reason to believe are connected with the deaths himself?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, pretty sure that was the idea. Listen, we can cover the rest of the park faster if we split up. The coasters are the most popular attractions, so, with luck, maybe Dean'll get stuck in a long line and we can catch up with him before he's had too much chance to dangle himself as bait. You can take the south half of the park and I'll take the north half. Are you okay with that? You know what to do?"

Cas nodded. "I have a notebook," he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a small, red notebook and an ink pen. "I will examine the park and talk to people and take note of anything odd or inexplicable that I encounter."

"All right, then. Let's do this."

It was only after Cas had moved away and disappeared in the crowd that Sam realized he had assigned himself the half of the park that contained the Fun House, with its traditional giant clowns motif.

**Author's Note 2:** Hope you've enjoyed. This isn't going to be terribly long - three or four chapters maybe? I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can. A week at the absolute outside. Most of you probably already know this, but for those who don't, there was a real-life "Killer Clown" in Chicago in the 1970's. If you're not familiar with the story and you're interested (be warned - like much true crime, it's pretty gruesome) Google "John Wayne Gacy".


	2. Everybody Loves A Clown -- Or Not

**Ghost Rider**

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited and/or followed this story! I hope you continue to enjoy reading it. I'm having fun with this one. :) It reminds me of playing Roller Coaster Tycoon. Anyone ever play that? I love that game. Any time I'm playing and one of my coasters wipes out and kills a bunch of people, I re-name it the Death Trap and then all the little Guests go around saying, "I'm not riding the Death Trap! It's dangerous!" and I say, "duh!" *g* As I'm posting this, I'm also going to update Chapter One, simply to replace my scene breaks, which ffnet ate. Again. :-/

**Disclaimer:** No clowns were harmed in the making of this story. Even though I tend to agree with Sam (as do many of you, it seems) that they're seriously creepy.

**Ghost Rider**

**by**

_Elfinblue_

**Chapter Two: Everybody Loves A Clown. Or not.**

Skeleton Cove Amusement Park had five coasters. Dean started with the Timber Rattler, a wooden coaster that was the park's smallest and oldest and also the deadliest. The Rattler alone was responsible for six of the eleven deaths on the park's coasters over the years, though technically only five had actually fallen off. The sixth was crushed to death when the brakes on a returning train failed and it crashed into a train that had yet to leave the station. That accident had also injured over two dozen, some of them being permanently crippled. The ride had been closed for almost a year and completely rebuilt.

The crash had been almost a quarter of a century ago and the last death on the ride was more than a decade in the past. Apparently no one but Dean Winchester had that long a memory. Cattle rails and heavy chains delineated a long queue up the the station, which was garishly painted to look like a giant rattlesnake. To enter, it was necessary to walk through the snake's fanged mouth. The line ran to about halfway between the entrance to the queue and the entrance to the building.

Dean paused, took several deep breaths, stiffened his spine and dried his hands on his jeans. What no one needed to know, especially not Cas and _especially_ not Sam, was that Dean felt about roller coasters much the same way he felt about airplanes, and for pretty much the same reason. It was a matter of control, a question of trusting the competency of complete strangers in a situation where he was powerless. If they'd let him take the damn thing apart, plane or coaster, and put it back together again to his satisfaction, and then hand him the keys and let him drive, he'd be perfectly happy on either one.

He could have admitted his fears. He liked to think he was a big enough man to do just that (if he absolutely had to). But then Sam and Cas would have insisted on riding the coasters in his place. Riding the things himself was terror-inducing enough. Trusting his brother or his best friend to one was completely out of the question. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the fact that they were the most probable hunting grounds of something really nasty.

Taking one last deep breath, Dean entered the queue and proceeded to the end of the line, just past a sign that informed him the wait at that point was approximately twenty minutes. The person in front of him turned as he came to a stop behind them. It was a kid, a boy of about twelve wearing a grunge band tee shirt and a cocky attitude. He looked Dean up and down critically.

"Scared?"

Dean sneered at him. "No."

"Y'are too. I can tell. I'm not scared, though. I come here all the time. I bet I've ridden every ride in this park a thousand times. It must be pretty pathetic, bein' as old as you and bein' scared of a roller coaster."

"I'm _not_ scared! And shouldn't you be in school right now, you little punk?"

"It's a teachers' work day."

"Yeah, right. Teachers' work day my ass."

"You don't believe me?"

"Kid, this is a little town. There is nothing else to do in a fifty mile radius but come to this park. If it was a teachers' work day this place would be crawling with little punks like you. You told your mom it was a teachers' work day and the school probably thinks you're at the dentist, right?"

The kid looked around nervously. "Shut up," he said. "You don't know anything."

"Listen, I was playing hooky - and being more clever about it - when I was half your age."

"Well . . . at least I'm not scared to go on a stupid roller coaster!"

"Shaddup!"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Excuse me? Miss?"

Mildred Morgan, forty years past being a "miss" and suspicious of flattery, turned with a sharp retort on her lips. She let it die unspoken when she'd taken in the man standing outside her booth. He stood above average height, but on him it wasn't intimidating. He had dark, rumpled hair and deep blue eyes and an almost military air that made his casual clothing seem out of place.

He tilted his head to the side, giving himself the appearance of a curious bird. "May I ask you a few questions?"

Mildred leaned forward, resting beefy forearms on the rough wooden counter. "Shoot."

The man paused, blinked. "I do not require to shoot anything right now. I only need to ask you some questions."

Mildred paused, blinked. ". . . okay . . . ?"

He took a press pass from his pocket, checking it carefully before offering it for her inspection. "I am a reporter," he said earnestly. His voice was very deep. "I am doing a story on haunted amusement parks for Halloween. Have you experienced anything here that could be construed as . . . " He broke off, his gaze drifting past her to take in the spinning machine and the plastic bags of pastel clouds that hung from the walls of the booth behind her. "What is that substance?"

She glanced back herself, brow furrowed in bemusement. "Cotton candy?"

He paused, blinked. "Cotton is not edible."

She paused, blinked. " . . . it's not really cotton . . ."

"Oh. Good. What is it?"

"Sugar, mostly. Flavoring. Food color."

"How is it made?"

She explained the process to him and he stood for a long time watching the threads of melted sugar spin out into the bowl.

"May I try it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Sure, if you buy a bag."

"How much is it?"

She told him and he extracted a wallet and carefully removed a five dollar bill. He seemed unfamiliar with money and she wondered if he'd escaped from a home somewhere or if maybe he was Canadian. She gave him his change and a fresh cloud of candy, still warm from the machine.

He tasted it, frowned thoughtfully and nodded. "This is very pleasant. The taste is appealing and the sensation of the candy melting on your tongue makes for an interesting tactile experience."

"I'm glad you approve," she said dryly.

"I wonder if Dean and Sam have tasted this?"

_Probably_, she thought, but she was never one to pass up an opportunity to make a sale. "You could always take them some."

"Yes, perhaps that is what I should do."

"So, two bags then? What flavors would you like?"

"Sam would probably like vanilla," he decided.

"And the other one? Dean, was it?"

The stranger considered, did the bird-like head tilt again. "Does it come in beer flavor?"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

When Sam was small, maybe six or seven, they'd spent a few weeks one summer squatting in an abandoned farm house in the middle of nowhere. The property included an old barn, paint long since weathered away. The loft was big and light and open, but there were gaps in the walls and holes in the splintered wooden flooring and Dean had forbidden him from going up there. Instead, he played in the shadowy warren of odd-shaped little rooms and narrow stalls below.

One of the rooms had a manger built against the wall and filled with rubbish - random pieces of harness, a flat bicycle tire on a bent and rusted rim, the broiler door from a stove and all manner of odd detritus. Sam had been exploring the contents of the manger by himself one day (Dean was trying to resurrect an ancient lawn mower in the next room) when a scarlet strip of late sunlight, coming in through a crack in the siding, illuminated a small hole in the back of the manger and Sam saw that something was moving inside the hole. Curious, he tried to poke his finger in the hole to see what it was, but the manger was too deep and too filled with junk and his little arm wasn't long enough. He found a long splinter of old wood and poked that in the hole instead, then crouched there and watched in horrified fascination as what seemed like millions of tiny spiders came pouring out - far more than the hole should have been able to contain. They covered the wall and swarmed over the junk in the manger and ran up the stick Sam had poked into the hole, as if seeking vengeance. He'd dropped the stick and run to Dean and he'd never gone back in that room again.

Months later the school he and Dean were attending had taken his grade to the circus one day. He had watched as what seemed like millions of clowns crawled out of a car that was much too small to hold them. That night he dreamed of the barn again, and the hole in the manger wall, but this time when he poked the stick in, it was not tiny spiders that swarmed out, but tiny clowns. His screams woke not only Dean and their dad, but every person staying in the same motel that night, including a drunk who'd been passed out for four days and whom the manager was considering reporting to the police as having died.

The Fun House at Skeleton Cove was in a building that had been a late nineteenth century fish cannery. It stood four stories high, perched on a cliff above the ocean, and the weathered-wood exterior was heavily painted with balloons and flowers and dozens upon dozens of maniacally-grinning clown faces. The entrance was a circular opening in the left side of the landward wall, in the mouth of the largest clown face. The outside shone red. The inside was dark and shadowy and Sam could just make out movement within.

He expected the clowns to start swarming any second.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Nineteen-year-old Chad Hardwick would have loved to be a bully, had he any platform at all from which to bully anyone. He wasn't handsome or wealthy or popular. He had no charisma. He couldn't lord over anyone with his superior intellect - the last time he'd tried that he'd been smacked down badly by an intelligent nine-year-old - and his physique was less Incredible Hulk and more Incredible Shrinking Biceps. The only power of any kind he could lay claim to came from his job as an announcer and ride operator at Skeleton Cove Amusement Park.

He milked it for all he was worth.

He'd been working at the park in one capacity or another since he was fifteen and he'd gotten to be an expert at picking out the nervous riders. He took great delight in messing with them, making it his personal mission to intimidate and humiliate them. Especially if it was a guy who had the things he'd never had, like good looks or charm or a girl on his arm.

He noticed the guy in the plaid flannel over shirt as soon as he entered the boarding shed. Plaid flannel! Seriously! Who wore a flannel shirt to an amusement park? The guy was big, with the broad shoulders and narrow hips of an athlete and movie-star good looks. He moved with an innate grace and confidence, but the signs were there if you knew what to look for. His back was ramrod straight, his jaw set, and he kept wiping his palms on his jeans.

_Probably trying to work up the courage to ask a girl out and doesn't want her to know he's chicken shit. What a loser!_

Chad ducked his head and grinned and promised himself a sno cone if he could make the guy cry or wet himself. _Ice cream if he completely humiliates himself by fighting his way back off before the ride starts._

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"So, first you roast them to bring out the flavor," Castiel clarified, "and then you sell them either with or without salt?"

"Right," the vendor nodded. "See, personally, I don't see the point to unsalted peanuts, but some people are all into that whole, low-salt diet crap so we sell nuts that they can eat, too."

Cas nodded. "I will take a large bag, with salt." He juggled his burdens to get to his wallet. He was carrying two sacks of cotton candy, a bag of salt-water taffy, and a large teddy bear he'd won by choosing a numbered rubber duck from a trough full of water. The game operator had claimed he was incredibly lucky. Cas didn't really understand the point of that game and he suspected he'd feel less than lucky if Dean saw him walking around with a children's toy, but the man insisted it was his and he didn't know what else to do with it for the time being.

As he was replacing his wallet his fingers touched his notebook and he recalled, with a guilty start, that he was actually supposed to be researching the recent deaths.

"One more thing," he said, taking the bag of peanuts from the man. "Have you noticed anything lately that you would describe as 'weird', 'odd', or 'supernatural'?"

The guy stared at him. "Weirder than a grown man who's never eaten roasted peanuts?"

Cas considered the parameters of his research. "Yes," he decided.

"Then no."

"Thank you. I'll just write that down."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Sam put off the Fun House as long as he could. After all, it was really unlikely the deaths were related to the Fun House, right? There was no evidence any of the victims had even visited the Fun House, right? And, hey, a Fun House haunted by a vengeful killer clown, that would just be too cliche, right? _Right?_

Yeah, he didn't believe it either.

He'd covered the rest of his half of the park without ever completely turning his back on the door in the giant clown mouth. Going with the newspaper reporter cover, he'd questioned the vendors at the souvenir stands, talked to parents waiting outside the Flying Teacups and Tilt-A-Whirl, and even ridden the Bumper Cars. He'd known he looked as ridiculous as he felt, stuffed into the little vehicle with his six-four frame bent double and his knees up by his ears, but that was his job. Anything for the cause. No stone unturned. He was even considering going on it again, just to be thorough, when he remembered that Dean was taking all the dangerous rides himself and the sooner he got through the Fun House the sooner he could go watch his brother's back.

There was no line to enter the Fun House. You just walked in and made your way through it at your own pace. (In Sam's case, this was likely to be an Olympic trials qualifying time.) Resolutely, he faced the giant clown face. Step by step he approached the dark cavern that was its mouth.

_You can do this,_ he told himself. _You're a grown man. And a hunter. And a Man of Letters. You jumped into a cage in the pit of Hell, for crying out loud!_

_Yes,_ a treacherous little voice in his head whispered back. _But that was only Lucifer. **This** is **clowns**!_

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Chad waited until Flannel Shirt Guy was taking his place in the front car of the train before he launched into the special version of his spiel that he saved for nervous Nellies.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Timber Rattler - the park's only wooden coaster and the oldest wooden coaster still in operation on the Eastern Seaboard. We call her the Timber Rattler because she's made of wood and she rattles like an old woman with loose dentures on a vibrating bed. The track is just over eight tenths of a mile long and your train will reach speeds of up to 43 miles per hour, unless she gives out on that nasty curve over the ocean again, in which case you will be accelerating at an initial rate of 32 feet per second, per second until you come into contact with the surface, 95 feet below. Don't worry about getting wet, though, there are plenty of rocks to break your fall and, in the unlikely event that you survive colliding with them, there's a very good chance that fire department rescue crews will be able to cut you free before you're drowned by the incoming tide. The Timber Rattler was built in 1873 with old barn wood and rusty nails and has been poorly-maintained ever sin-"

Chad glanced at his prey to check his progress and found himself staring into a gaze that could fuse sand into glass. He choked mid-sentence, clutched the microphone in a stranglehold and tried desperately to think of words with which to fill the dead air.

"Kidding!" he gasped finally. "Kidding. Just kidding. Good. Coaster! Coaster good! Good coaster!" He patted his podium reassuringly. "Safe! Not made . . . old. Nineteen . . . uh . . . nineteen . . . uh . . . nineteen-something. I've got it written down somewhere. Good ride! Have a . . . have a . . . everybody, um, everybody have a good ride."

Flannel Shirt Guy held up two fingers. He pointed them at his eyes. Then he pointed them at Chad. Chad spontaneously developed a case of the hiccups. Praying that he could somehow be gone before the ride ended, he closed his eyes and hit the button that let the computer take over and start the train up the long, steep hill at the beginning of the track.

He was still standing there with his eyes closed when the next train came to a stop and a soft, amused voice spoke at his elbow. "Chad? Yoohoo! Earth to Chad? Not sleeping on the job, are you?"

Chad's eyes popped open and he forced a grin for Jennie Chambers, the lovely, 26-year-old grad student that he liked to think of as his cougar girlfriend. They were perfect soul mates and easily the happiest couple in the park, but they were taking things slow and keeping their relationship on the down-low. In other words, they'd never really gone out, or even spoken to each other outside of work, and Jennie didn't even know they were dating.

"Just, uh, thinking. Yeah! That's it! Thinking is all."

"Well, take your deep thoughts over to the Dizzie Lizzie. Bossman wants you to give Tim a fifteen and then take over on the Bone Shaker so Wally can go to lunch."

The train with Plaid Flannel Shirt Guy finished its circuit and was waiting at the top of the hill for the second train to leave the station so it could come down and unload.

"Right! Great! Dizzie Lizzie! I'm on it!" Released from his post, Chad made a dash for the employee door. As he reached the exit, though, he paused and looked back, hoping to see that the ride had taken some of the starch out of Plaid Flannel Shirt Guy. What he saw was Jennie. Instead of going straight to her podium, she was helping the other attendants open the restraints and let the riders out. Specifically, she was helping Plaid Flannel Shirt Guy out of the lead car. He grinned down at her, giving her a megawatt smile and saying something that had her blushing to the tips of her ears. She smiled back, took a pen from her pocket and wrote something on his hand. He kissed that hand and gave her a wink.

Chad whined and kicked the door frame. When he looked back, he met that gaze again, hot and hard. Chad whimpered and turned and ran.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Perhaps some residue of Cas' grace still clung to him, perhaps it was just a coincidence, but the fact was that he won every carnival game he attempted. By the time he'd worked his way through the concessions and attractions on "Funnybone Lane" he was nearly staggering under the weight of the stuffed animals he'd won and the foodstuffs he'd succumbed to the temptation to try.

He emerged from the lane into a small courtyard, dropped his burden onto a nearby bench and took out his phone to check in with Dean. The elder Winchester answered on the second ring.

"Yeah?"

"Hello, Dean? Are you there?"

"I'm here. What's up, Cas? You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I was just checking in with you. Have you learned anything?"

"Nah. I've been through the Timber Rattler. It's a creepy old ride but I didn't see anything and there's no EMF. I'm in line for the Dizzie Lizzie now and then I figure I'll head for the Bone Shaker. What about you? Any luck?"

"I have not found anything to do with our case," Cas admitted. "Most people seem to feel the strangest thing they've encountered at the park is me. I've discovered so many things with which I was not familiar, and I'm afraid I've been less than circumspect in my curiosity."

"Huh. Well, shouldn't be a problem. You didn't go up to anyone and say, 'Hi, I'm Castiel and I'm a former angel of the Lord', did you?"

"No, of course not. I've been telling people I'm from Canada. Someone asked me if I was and most people seem to accept it as a reasonable explanation for my questions."

"Okay, well . . . good then." Cas could hear the suppressed amusement in his friend's voice.

"Dean . . . can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

"Shoot."

Cas took the phone from his ear and looked at it, perplexed. "I do not need to shoot anything, I simply have a question."

"I know that, Cas," Dean said patiently. "'Shoot' is an expression. It means go ahead and ask your question."

"Oh. Of course. My question is, what if I won something that I neither need nor want, but I didn't want to litter and it seemed wasteful to throw it away?"

"Something like a stuffed animal?"

Cas looked at the small mountain of synthetic fur and feathers beside him. "Something like that, yes." He listened to Dean's response and his brow furrowed. "And that would be all right? It would not make me appear 'creepy' or 'stalkerish'?" This was something the brothers Winchester frequently cautioned him about. He listened some more and nodded, even though he knew Dean couldn't see him.

"Is Sam there?" Dean asked, when he'd finished with his advice.

"No, we split up to cover the park more quickly. I'm canvassing the south half and he took the north."

"He took the half with the Fun House? Huh. That should be entertaining. I wonder how many times he rode the Bumper Cars. Listen, let me ride this coaster and the next one and then I'll meet up with you somewhere. We can go rescue Sam from the big, scary clowns and get some lunch, all right?"

"That sounds okay. How long will you be?"

"I dunno. Forty-five minutes to an hour, maybe?"

Cas once more examined the pile of stuffed animals and calculated how long it would take to get rid of them. "That should be fine. I'll wait for your call, then."

Dean hung up and Cas clicked his phone off and tucked it away, then studied the other people resting in the courtyard. He picked up one of the stuffed toys at random - a rainbow-colored unicorn - and approached a young woman sitting next to a fountain.

"Excuse me, miss?"

She glanced up. "Yes?"

"I've never been to an amusement park before. I was trying the games, to see if I could beat them, and I've inadvertently collected a number of prizes that I have no use for. My friend suggested that I give them to pretty girls so, may I?"

The woman's smile warmed. "Of course."

Cas knelt, putting himself on a level with the big-eyed, dark-haired toddler that was standing beside her, clinging to her knee. "Hello. My name is Cas. This unicorn needs a little girl to take care of him. Would you like to take him home with you?"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Once inside the clown-mouth doorway, Sam had three options. He could take a short hallway to his left that ended in a blind corner, go down a long, revolving cylindrical hallway to the right, or climb a crooked staircase flanked by distorted mirrors straight ahead of him.

Sam cursed under his breath. The Fun House was a maze. Wasn't that just perfect? He needed to search the whole thing - go down every corridor and slide and up every flight of stairs. It was going to be a serious pain in the ass, trying to make sure he didn't miss anything, and that was without having to worry about being lost and trapped alone in a hive full of feral clowns.

He needed Dean, he thought, and then brightened as he realized he really _did_ need Dean. This attraction was just too big and convoluted for one person to search by himself. The three of them together could cover it much more efficiently, and that had nothing to do with his coulrophobia so Dean couldn't even give him grief about it.

With a happy, relieved sigh, he turned back to retrace his steps out the entrance and found himself face to face with his worst nightmare.

It was a clown.

It was a white-face clown with a dark red wig, a bright scarlet mouth and purple stars for eyes. It grinned its maniacal grin and giggled a silly little, barely-human sounding giggle as it bounced towards him, waving a jester's wand with a rattle on the end.

With a cry of horror, Sam flung himself back towards the crooked stairs.

The clown froze for a long second, then minced forward again with a hopeful laugh. "Tee hee hee hee hee hee!"

"Stay back!" Sam commanded, voice deep and authoritative even as he pressed himself against the Fun House wall in an attempt to get away from the performer.

The clown took a cautious step forward and tittered uncertainly.

"I mean it!" Sam backed up the first two steps. "Don't come any closer!"

The clown stopped and drooped suddenly. Its jester's wand dragged the floor. It raised its other hand and tore at the dark red wig, tipped back its head and let out a burbling, sobbing wail. As Sam watched in horror, its face began to melt.

**Second Author's Note: ** Well, that's chapter two finished now. I think I'll take the rest of the year off. See you in January! Y'all like cliffhangers, right?

(Kidding! Just kidding! I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can. Hope you're all enjoying my story. {: 0D [look! I made a clown face emoticon!])


	3. Ticket to Ride

**Ghost Rider**

**Chapter Three: Ticket to Ride**

**Author's Note:** Thanks, as always, for the reviews, favorites and follows! I'm very bad about not responding to reviews, and I apologize. Please don't think I don't appreciate you. I rarely have time to get on my actual computer and usually wind up reading reviews on my phone while I'm on break at work or standing in line somewhere. Responding to reviews from a phone is possible, but time consuming, and time is one thing I never seem to have enough of. (Time and money - where does it go?) I do love hearing your reactions to my story, though, and I get a real kick out of it when someone figures out where I'm headed before I get there.*

Sorry this chapter is a bit late. Like many of us, I've been involved in this year's Relay For Life, which took place last Saturday, and I got so tied up with last-minute preparations that I didn't get any writing done at all.

I think I'm all out of excuses now, so I'll stop blethering and get on with the story. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:**I can't think of anything clever to disclaim.

**Ghost Rider**

**Chapter Three: Ticket to Ride**

Cas knew many things. He knew that the Earth was constantly in motion. He knew that in the middle latitudes of the United States, where he was, it spun on its axis at between 700 and 900 miles per hour and it circled the sun at about 67,000 miles per hour. He knew that the solar system moved around the center of the Milky Way galaxy and he knew that the galaxy moved out and away from the center of the universe. He knew that, at any given second, he was hundreds of miles away from the point in space where he'd been the second before.

He also knew that everything around him was moving at the same speed and in the same direction he was, and that the park and its inhabitants weren't really revolving in a wobbly, clock-wise motion around where he lay on his back on a park bench, his head pillowed on the last stuffed animal in his possession, his collection of amusement-park food scattered on the cobbles underneath.

When he had first been stripped of his grace and left human, the angel had noticed only what he'd lost. As time progressed, however, he realized he'd received some surprising compensations. Angels had no imagination - that in itself was an incredible boon - but even if they had he never would have imagined the feast of sensations that came from existing as a human within Earth's biosphere. Who, not having experienced it, would have believed that rain on the skin could be warm or icy, soothing, punishing, soft as flower petals or sharp as thorns? Bees still enchanted him, but they enchanted him from a distance since he'd received his first bee sting. Everything he encountered he wanted to touch, examine, smell, listen to. Taste.

Taste was a big one. The whole process of eating amazed him, the way appearance and aroma made food enticing, the efficiency with which the body broke it down, took the nutrients that it needed and discarded the rest.

Dean and Sam were less taken with the subject. Not only had Dean flat refused to examine the contents of the toilet before he flushed it, they had asked him to refrain from discussing his bodily functions and he was no longer allowed to eat broccoli in the bunker.

Cas' stomach burbled and he wondered if it would count as talking about bodily functions if he phoned one of the brothers and asked them if they knew why it was doing that. He wondered if it was something he'd eaten. He'd been trying new foods, but all of them were combinations of foods he'd had before and none of them had ever had this effect on him. He ran down the list in his mind.

Cotton candy - that was just spun sugar. He'd eaten sugar before. The salt-water taffy was also mostly sugar and the oddly-spelled "sno cone" was just sugared ice, as was the slushee. Ice cream was sugar and dairy products, funnel cakes were grain-based treats fried in oil and coated with powdered sugar and so, essentially, were donuts. Peanuts were a legume and contained vegetable proteins. Corn dogs were beef - he'd asked - dipped in a batter made primarily of corn meal and fried in oil, and nachos were simply triangles of unleavened bread made of corn meal, deep fried and coated with flavored cheese.

Certainly nothing odd there.

Puzzled, Cas lay an arm across his stomach, covered his mouth politely (as the Winchesters did when they weren't deliberately trying to "gross each other out") and allowed a small belch to escape, noting the mix of flavors and the tang of stomach acid as it passed through his mouth.

Perhaps he was coming down with something. He hoped it wasn't serious.

****SNP**SPN**SPN****

Dean Winchester didn't like to think of himself as a bully. That accusation, when he'd caught ghost fever shortly after getting out of Hell, had hurt. It had hurt that it had happened, it had hurt that Sam and Bobby had accepted it so easily, and it had hurt that neither of them even seemed to consider that the designation might hurt. Mostly, though, it hurt because he knew it was true. He was a dick. He was a cold bastard and a hard son-of-a-bitch.

A more objective person, of course, might have seen it differently. They might have pointed out that he was only cold and hard to those that deserved it. They might have called him a clear-eyed judge of the heart and soul. An avenging angel. A righteous man.

In any case, the fact remained that every once in awhile Dean Winchester would encounter someone whose life he could not resist making a living hell.

The boarding shed for the roller coaster called Dizzie Lizzie was built in among the track supports. There was a long ramp leading up to it and loops of track passed both above and beneath it. The entire metal building shivered and vibrated with the rhythm of the trains and Dean, waiting just behind the chain at the edge of the platform, resolutely ignored the long drop beneath the slender metal rails and did his best to block out the noise by humming Led Zeppelin.

One thing Dean was _not_ was psychic, which meant that the images in his head of the trains collapsing and crushing the shed and all its occupants was just his imagination and not a premonition. Trying to distract himself from his fears, he dropped to one knee and was re-tying his right bootlace when a familiar voice came over the speakers.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Dizzie Lizzie, the park's most eye-popping roller coaster. Why is it eye-popping? Because the cumulative g-force of its 26 curves and switchbacks is enough to suck those baby-blues right out of your head! That's why it's important, as you ride the Lizzie, to keep your mouth open and your pinky finger in your left ear to monitor intra-cranial pressure and please! Be sure to blink three times between curves to reset your eyes to a g-neutral state!"

It was the same little punk announcer that had tried to frighten him off the Timber Rattler.

Dean stood very slowly and scanned the shed, locating the announcer's podium. The kid wasn't looking at him this time. He was watching - Dean tracked his eyes - he was watching two teenaged girls standing in the queue next to him, waiting to get into the seat ahead of the one he would be in. They were about fourteen or fifteen, awkward and coltish. One was overweight and wore glasses. The other had braces and a bad case of acne. They were wearing matching tee shirts that had the current date on them and the words: "Westwood High Latin Club Fall Fling - Tempus Fugit! Carpe Diem!"

A rush of sympathy fueled Dean's annoyance. He turned his attention back to the ride announcer, held up his hand and snapped his fingers. The kid glanced over at him and stuttered into silence in mid-bs. Dean raised one eyebrow and Turbo-Punk turned a satisfying shade of greyish-green.

Dean glanced at the girls. They had noticed him and were gaping in awe. He gave them a smile and they both blushed dark red.

"Non timete," he told them, keeping the grammar simple. "Stultus est." _Fear not. He's stupid._

"You speak Latin?" the one with braces squeaked.

"A little."

"This ride won't really suck out our eyes, will it?" the other one asked. "I mean, it couldn't right? They'd get in trouble. Nobody would let them run it if it did."

"Nah, it's okay. G-force doesn't work the way he wants you to think it works. It isn't going to build up between the curves or anything like that." He launched into an in-depth explanation of g-forces and the engineering that went into making roller coasters safe, drawing it out in ways that made it easy for them to understand. Their conversation filled the time until the next train had rolled in and unloaded and it was time for them to board.

The two girls climbed into the car in front of him, chattering happily and excited about experiencing the different forces for themselves. Dean would never know it, but he'd had a profound influence on these young women. He'd awakened in them both an interest in science and engineering that each would eventually turn into a lucrative and rewarding career. Years later, looking back over their educations and the multiple advanced degrees each held by then, they'd agreed that they never did find an instructor as brilliant, as easy to understand, or as drop-dead gorgeous as the guy on the roller coaster.

For his part, Dean clenched his fists around the restraining bar and swore, again, that he was going to find a way to gank Metatron and get Cas' grace back. Then he was going to make the newly-re-powered angel take him back in time, so he could find the guy who invented roller coasters and kick his ass.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

The clown's face was melting.

Sam flung himself back against the Fun House staircase in horror and scrambled for a weapon. They'd come into the amusement park mostly unarmed, but no hunter went anywhere completely unprotected. Sam dug into his pockets and came up with a handful of salt packets. Hastily ripping them open, he threw them at the clown.

The clown abruptly stopped his burbling wail, quit pulling at his weird orange hair, and stared at Sam.

"What in the hell did you go and do that for?"

"I . . . uh . . . "

He held out one gloved hand, staring at the white crystals stuck there. "Is that . . . salt? You salted me? What the hell? Do I look like a french fry to you?" He raked his hand across his melting face, dragging gobs of smeared, psychedelically-colored grease paint up into his hair.

He wasn't melting, Sam realized suddenly. He was . . . .

"Were you . . . crying?"

The clown drew in a long, shuddering breath. "Of course I'm crying! You hate me!" He let out another sobbing wail. "It's bad enough when little kids do it. And they do it _allll_ the time. I bounce out and give them my big, happy, HI! face." (He demonstrated his big, happy HI! face and Sam tried to press himself through the wooden wall of the staircase and reached for a gun he wasn't carrying.) "And what do they do? They scream! They cry! They run and hide and sometimes they throw up on me. But I tell myself it's okay. They're just little kids. They don't know any better. I'm bigger than they are and they're bound to be a little scared of me." He paused for breath and gave Sam a hurt, accusing glare. "But you're nine feet tall and you're still scared of me and IT'S NOT FAAAAIIIIRRR!"

It was a human, Sam realized. Not a monster. Just a - probably psychotic - human in bad makeup and weird clothes. _Damn. That means I can't gank him. Probably._

"Look," Sam tried reasonably, "I don't hate you."

"Can I have a hug?"

"NO! Stay back!"

"You see? You do hate me! And you salted me! I'm having a nervous breakdown and you salted me!"

"I . . . can't explain that. But, look, it's nothing personal, okay?"

"Nothing personal? Nothing personal?! How can it be nothing personal? You hate me!"

Sam opened his mouth, casting about for something to say that was soothing and reassuring. Something that would defuse the situation. What came out was, "is that your real hair?"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Hello?"

"Dean?"

"Cas? What's wrong?"

"Dean, what are the symptoms for the bubonic plague?"

Dean paused a moment before answering. "Are you sick?"

"I believe I may be," Cas admitted. "My stomach feels too tight and it's making odd noises. This is extremely unpleasant."

"What rides have you been on?"

"I have not ridden any of the rides."

"Okay, then. What have you eaten?"

"Nothing untoward."

"Be more specific."

"Well, I did eat some cotton candy. But it's not really cotton. It's only spun sugar. I got some for you and Sam, too. It doesn't come in beer flavor, I'm afraid, so I got you blueberry pie."

It took Dean a long moment to respond. When he did, Cas could hear the suppressed amusement in his voice, and the undercurrent of concern. "Thanks. That's, uh, real kind. So, anything else? Just cotton candy?"

"Nothing unusual."

"Details, Cas. Details!"

Cas gave him the details. ". . . and three corn dogs and an order of nachos."

"Geez! You ate all that?"

"It's all variations on things I've eaten before," Cas protested. "I don't understand why it should make me ill."

"You ate too much, Cas. It's like," there was a brief silence over the phone while Dean gathered his thoughts. "It's like a couple of weeks ago when you broke the food processor, remember?"

"I told you I was sorry," Cas said, a hint of rebuke in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. That's not the point. The point is, you remember what you did? You stuffed a whole, big chunk of ham in it, completely filled it and then turned it on. There was too much in it for it to process and it burned out the motor trying. That's what you've done to your body now. You've stuffed too much food in it all at once and now you feel sick because it's having trouble processing it."

Cas felt himself fill with horror and couldn't speak. Dean, fortunately, read into his silence.

"No one's going to have to take you apart and rebuild you," he said. "You're going to be fine. You just need to rest and take it easy for a bit. Give your body time to deal with all the food you shoved into it. Try going to the restroom, that might help."

"The restroom! Of course! I should have thought of that! Should I attempt to urinate or defecate?"

(A woman on the next bench over gave the former angel a very odd look.)

"Gah! Don't talk about it!" Dean squawked. "Either. Both. Whatever. Just do it. Don't talk about it. Just . . . don't talk about it!"

"Very well," Cas said, a bit truculently. "It's just that I've never been ill before. I thought you might want to share the experience with me."

He could practically hear Dean grinding his teeth over the phone. "Cas, you're talking about going to the bathroom. That is _not_ something you share. Ever. If you need help, I will stand outside and throw you rolls of toilet paper. That's as close as I come." He sighed. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the food court at the end of Funnybone Lane."

"Okay, well, I'm just about to board the Bone Shaker. You're only about a hundred yards from the exit, so I should be there in five minutes or so. If you're in the toilet when I get there, I'll wait for you outside, okay?"

"You can come in if you want to."

"I don't!"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Dean turned his phone off, tucked it securely into his pocket and glanced around. The elderly couple standing at the head of the next queue were giving him an odd look.

"My, uh, friend," he said, "grew up in one of those weirdo cults. Just recently got away from them. He's, uh, never been out in public before. Having a little trouble with his social skills." By the time he'd finished speaking they were nodding understandingly. Dean shrugged to himself. Whatever story worked, he guessed.

The train pulled to a stop in front of them and there was a short wait while the last bunch of riders climbed out on the opposite platform and drifted away. When they were all gone and the platform was empty, the ride workers closed and latched the bars on the exit side and opened the bars on the entrance side.

For the third time that morning, Dean climbed into a little metal death trap and fought down three separate phobias. There was a fear of being restrained that he had earned the hard way during his time in hell and the claustrophobia that came from waking up in your own coffin, four months in the grave, plus a fear of not being in control that had only worsened, oddly enough, after his dad died and left him with no one to give him orders.

One of the attendants stopped by his car, closed the bar down over his lap and locked it into place, trapping him on the ride until someone released him. Dean forced himself to take deep breaths and not hyperventilate.

A familiar voice came over the loudspeaker. Dean snapped his head around, seeking out the podium. _What the hell? Is he following me?_

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Skeleton Harbor Amusement Park's premier attraction - The Bone Shaker!" The kid looked up, caught sight of Dean, faltered for a second and then started talking really fast. "It's a good ride! A really good ride! Safe! And, uh, fun! Yeah! It's lotsa fun. You'll love it! I promise! And, um, I wasn't gonna say anything about old people shouldn't ride it 'cause of osteoporosis and it really doesn't shake your bones. That's just, y'know, a name. A . . . a . . . a . . . motif! That's it! It's just a motif, because of the whole Skeleton Harbor thing. And it's high! Yeah! Highest . . . uh . . . highest ride in the park. The third hill is. You can see, like, a long, long ways away. And . . . and . . . " he stuttered to a halt and looked around. Everyone in the boarding shed was staring at him. He flushed bright red. "And, um, everyone have a good ride," he finished lamely.

Dean caught his eye, lowered his chin and gave the kid a look. The kid flinched, closed his eyes, and hit a button on the podium. The train began to move.

The long, slow, rattling climb up the first hill was the worst, Dean thought. He gripped the bar in front of him in a death grip and desperately hummed Ramble On under his breath while his stomach tried to crawl out his spine and go back to the Impala. When they finally reached the top there was a pause that lasted a second and an eternity and then they were whipping forward and down and around. The world was spinning past in a dizzy blur. Everyone around him was screaming and, just for a moment, he was back in hell, surrounded by the cries of demons and the wailing of damned souls. They went through a triple-loop inversion, around a curve, up and down the second hill and then the pace of the ride slowed again as they got to another lift, carrying them up the long, steep slope to the top of the third hill and the highest point in the park.

They reached the top and hung there for a long moment. Then they hung there some more. Then they continued to hang there. From Dean's vantage point in the lead car, he couldn't see the track beneath him, only thin air and the long, long view out over the park and across the sea to the distant horizon.

"Is it supposed to do this?" someone behind him asked.

The old lady who'd been next to him in the line answered uncertainly. "Maybe they do this so we have time to take in the view. Like that boy was talking about. Maybe?"

"This isn't right!" That was the punk kid from the Timber Rattler. Now he was the one who sounded scared. "This isn't right! It doesn't do this. I've ridden this ride a thousand times. It doesn't do this."

Somewhere in the back of the train a girl started crying.

"I think the coaster's broken," the punk continued. "I think we're stuck."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"I can't take it anymore!" the clown sobbed. "I might as well be dead!" He pushed past Sam and ran off up the crooked stairs.

"Wait!" Sam called out. "What are you thinking? Hey, come back here!" With a growl of frustration, he took off after the guy.

It was the strangest pursuit he'd ever been part of. He chased the sobbing clown through the hall of mirrors, down a spinning tunnel, through a trap door, down a slide, up a slanting, spiral escalator, through a maze and finally up a ladder and out another trap door that led to the roof. He found his quarry sitting at the very edge of the roof. The building sat right at the edge of the cliff here, and the clown was staring down, down, a hell of a long ways down to the tide curling in over jagged rocks at the base of the cliff.

"Stay back!" the clown warned. "I'll jump! I will. I'll do it. I know you don't believe me. Nobody ever takes me seriously."

"Well . . . you _are_ a clown. Look, let's just talk about this, okay? I'm sure we can find you some other options." Sam wasn't about to stand back and let the clown just kill himself. Partly that was out of kindness and a sense of duty to his fellow man and partly it was due to a sneaking sense of guilt at having been the one to tip the (_obviously unstable_) individual the rest of the way out of the sane canoe. Mostly, though, it was because of his experience as a hunter.

This guy was prime vengeful spirit material. No way in hell was Sam going to allow for the creation of a vengeful clown spirit.

He settled himself as close as he felt he could safely get, arranged his features into a mask of concern and compassion, and resolutely ignored the little voice in his head that was screaming _push it off! Push it off!_

*** Kudos to SquirlK for figuring out what was going on with the clown. ;)**


	4. Tears of a Clown

**Ghost Rider**

**Chapter 4: Tears of a Clown**

**Author's Note:** This story has gotten out of hand! I had only intended for it to be two or, at most, three chapters. Here we are at chapter four and, at this point, I don't even know where we're headed. Just pretend you're on a roller coaster. A big, rickety, out of control roller coaster with an insane clown tinkering in the depths of the machinery. That's probably a pretty close approximation of the situation, actually . . .

**Disclaimer:** I don't know what I'm doing.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

**Chapter 4: Tears of a Clown**

"You could always get a different job," Sam suggested reasonably.

"A job?" the clown repeated incredulously. "A _job_? You think that's all this is? A job? Do you have any idea what I had to go through to become a clown? Four years of college, for starters! You're looking at the result of a $60,000 education."

Sam looked at the result of a $60,000 education. The clown was dressed in a yellow and red, harlequin-style jumpsuit with pom-poms down the front and frills at the collar, wrists, and ankles. His once-white gloves were stained red, black, and purple from the makeup that smeared across his face and caked his reddish-orange Afro into strange shapes. His eyes, behind the grease-paint ruin, were bloodshot and manic.

"And I had to pay for it all myself. I buried myself in student loans and still had to work in fast food for five years to cover my living expenses. God! It was so degrading! Covered in grease! Dealing with the public constantly! And no one takes you seriously when you're inside the drive-thru. They see your struggles and they just laugh at you. Do you know what it's like, being laughed at all the time?"

"You don't like to be laughed at," Sam said slowly, "so you became a clown."

"Not helping."

"Sorry!"

"You sound like my family. They practically disowned me, you know. They wanted me to be a lawyer! Who in their right minds would ever want to be a lawyer?"

"Can't imagine," Sam muttered.

"Right! I know! 'Cause everybody hates lawyers, right? But everybody loves a clown. That's what they say. And all I ever wanted was to be loved. So I became a clown. And then I find that none of it's true. It's all just circus propaganda! Nobody loves a clown. They scream and they run and they _throw salt on me_! And it all just makes me soooo saaaaad!"

The clown broke down sobbing again and Sam fingered the phone in his pocket and considered. His first instinct was to call Dean and his second instinct was to call 911. He was afraid that phoning anyone might be enough to push the clown into carrying out his threats and jumping. He was going to have to do something, though. The sunny morning had turned to an overcast noontime and flashes of lightning flickered around the edges of his vision. It took only a glance towards the horizon to confirm that a fast-moving thunderstorm was rolling in from the sea.

"Look, I'm really sorry that I upset you, and I'm sorry about the whole salt thing. It's really not you, personally. It's just . . . I was attacked by clowns once. Two of them. It was a really traumatic experience and I can't help but flinch now when I see one, but that has nothing to do with you."

"You were attacked? By _clowns_?" The clown's voice rose in disbelief and horror. "How could anyone be so cold and cruel as to sully our profession by using the sacred trappings of clownhood to get close enough to cause injury to a poor, unsuspecting child? You poor, poor thing! How old were you?"

"Um . . . twenty-eight." Sam looked up slowly. The clown was just staring at him. Sam felt his face grow hot. He squirmed uncomfortably and gave a helpless shrug. "They had glitter . . . ."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Dean? Dean, where are you? I thought you'd be here by now."

"Ran into a little problem. You okay?"

"No! I'm not okay! Everything's coming out the wrong end!"

"You're throwing up?"

"I'm not throwing anything. All the food I ate is forcing its way back up my throat and out my mouth! What do I do?"

"Dude, calm down! What you're doing is called 'throwing up' and it's a perfectly natural response to trying to eat everything in the world all at once. Just let it happen. Try to hit the toilet or a trash can if you can. When you're finished, get some water and rinse your mouth out and you should feel better."

"How will I know when I'm finished?"

"When you're not doing it anymore." Dean gripped his phone in white-knuckled fingers and wished for something close enough to thunk his head against. Cas, as a newly-minted human, reminded him of Sammy, circa aged three.

"Oh. I think I'm finished then."

"Okay, good. You feel better?"

There was a short silence while, Dean knew, Cas did an internal assessment.

"Yes, I believe so. That was extremely unpleasant, though. Are you certain that I've not damaged anything?"

"Yeah, you'll be fine. Just don't make a habit of it. Get some water to rinse your mouth out with. If you want to, you can get a clear soda like 7-UP or Sprite or a little apple juice to sip on and it'll help settle your stomach. Mint is good for that, too, but just a little bit. Not a whole truckload."

"Should I try to find that lady and apologize to her dog?"

Dean closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the empty, blue gulf yawning away beneath him, the giant freighters that floated, toy-boat tiny, on the distant surface of the ocean, and the powerful electrical storm that was building on the horizon. _I'm not going to ask,_ he thought. _I'm not going to ask._ "Probably not."

"What should I do then? Where are you and when will be here?"

"Man, I don't know. The roller coaster got stuck and I'm stranded at the top of the tallest ride in the park. If you feel up to it, could you talk to the ride operators? Find out what's going on for me and call me back to let me know?"

"Yes, of course. You were on a roller coaster called the Bone Shaker?"

"Yeah, that's right. Listen, there's this one ride operator in particular. Punk teenager. His name tag said 'Chad'. He's been following me around hassling me all day. Find out if he did something on purpose to mess with the ride. If he did, threaten him into fixing it. If he didn't . . . threaten him anyway."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Dean? Dean, where are you?"

"Sammy? What's wrong? You sound about seven."

"Dean, there's a clown here!" Sam clutched the phone, keeping one eye on the clown in question. He had retreated into his own little world and was crying again and singing "Tears of a Clown" in a quavery, off-key voice, stopping every now and again to pull one of the pom-poms from the front of his costume, drop it over the edge and listen for it to strike bottom.

"What's he doing?" Dean asked, immediately going into bull-dog, big-brother mode. "Is he threatening you?"

"No, see, he jumped out at me when I wasn't expecting it and I -"

"Freaked out."

"Um, yeah. And I guess it really upset him and he started crying, so it made his makeup run and I thought his face was melting so I -"

"Threw salt on him."

"Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"There's a reason you didn't bring weapons into clown central, my brother. So what now? Is he threatening to sue you or just have you banned from the park?"

"No, um, he's threatening to jump off the Fun House and kill himself."

"Huh. That's a new one. You're not up there with him, are you?"

"Well, yeah, Dean. I'm trying to talk him into not killing himself."

"And resisting the urge to shove him over?"

"Not funny! . . . but, yeah."

"Well, listen, you've got to get back inside. There's a storm coming in."

"I can see that. But I can't just leave him out here! What if he really jumps? It'd be all my fault!"

"It's not your fault, Sam. Remember, he's a clown. He had to be mentally unstable to begin with."

"But I'd still feel responsible. Besides, if he jumps he'll land in the ocean. Even if they recover his body, it'll be all water-logged. You know that would make it a bitch to salt and burn. Come help me, Dean! You're good at convincing people to do things they don't want to."

"_I'm_ good at convincing people to do things they don't want to? Jeez, Sam! Have you forgotten, oh, I don't know, our _whole lives_? Use the puppy eyes! Nothing can withstand the puppy eyes!"

"I'd still feel better if you were here helping me."

"Yeah, well, so would I, but unfortunately I'm kinda tied up right now."

Sam glared at his phone. "If you've hooked up with some kinky woman and she's left you tied up and naked under the boardwalk again, I'm not coming to rescue you this time!"

Dean sighed. "It's nothing like that. Unfortunately. Look to your two-o'clock and up about thirty degrees."

Sam did as ordered and found himself looking at a short train sitting still at the top of the highest hill on the Bone Shaker. A tiny figure in the lead car waved at him.

"Dean? What are you doing up there?"

"Karaoke."

"What?"

"What do you think I'm doing up here? The damn ride broke down!"

"Do you need me?" Sam asked, ready to abandon the clown without a second thought if his brother was in trouble.

"Nah, nothing you can do here. I've got Cas down talking to the ride operators. He's gonna find out what's going on and call me back. Listen, you want me to call and get you some help up there?"

"I'd rather have you but, yeah, that'd probably be a good idea."

Dean said goodbye and hung up and Sam turned to find the clown had finished singing and was watching him sullenly.

"I'm sorry," he said acidly. "Are my life crisis and suicidal tendencies interfering with your fun day?"

"No, no. I'm sorry. I was just calling my brother, to see if he could come and talk to you. He's good at always knowing what to say."

In his head, Sam heard his brother's voice. _Hey, moron! There's a storm coming. Get your freaky clown ass back inside before you get struck by lightning and that hairdo becomes permanent. You can jump off the roof tomorrow if you still want to._

"Is he afraid of clowns too?"

"No, there's not much that Dean's afraid of."

"So is he coming?"

"Unfortunately, no. He would, but, uh, he's stuck on a broken-down roller coaster." He used his thumb to point back over his shoulder towards his brother.

The clown looked and his eyes widened. "Oh, wow. And there's a storm coming in. You know, those coasters always get struck by lightning during thunderstorms."

_Yeah, I'm gonna push him off,_ Sam thought.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Chad Hardwick was a nervous wreck.

"It's not my fault!" he moaned. "All I did was push the button. All I always do is push the button. It's the computer that really controls the ride!"

"Chad, we know that," one of his co-workers said, exasperated. "The boss knows that. You didn't do anything wrong. You're not going to get in trouble."

"Not gonna get in trouble?" he repeated. "Not gonna get in trouble!?" His voice rose three octaves to an hysterical shriek. "The guy in the plaid flannel shirt is gonna kill me!"

"Well, hey! Maybe he'll get struck by lightning!"

Chad turned and stared incredulously at the other ride operator and the kid (his name was Digby) shifted uncomfortably. "I was just joking, y'know. I didn't really mean -"

"Lightning," Chad said seriously, "would be _afraid_ to strike the guy in the plaid flannel shirt."

"Hey, Chad!" another co-worker called from the entrance to shed, empty now except for park workers and engineers trying to figure out why the coaster wasn't moving. "Guy out here is asking for you. Wanna come talk to him?"

Chad swallowed nervously and cautiously approached the entrance. A tall man stood there, with rumpled dark hair and piercing blue eyes and his arms loaded with junk food. "Are you Chad?" he asked.

Chad nodded.

The stranger stooped to carefully pile his burdens against the outer wall of the boarding shed, then stood once more, crossed his arms and glared at Chad. "My friend is stranded on this ride and wishes to know what you've done and how long it's going to take you to fix it. Be warned. If you do not answer to his satisfaction, I am prepared to intimidate you."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm calling from Skeleton Harbor Amusement Park. There's a clown threatening to jump off the Fun House."

"Sir, this line is reserved for real emergencies and it is against the law to use it for pranks and practical jokes!"

"No, I -"

_click_

"Hello?"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"I didn't do anything," Chad wailed. "I don't really control the coasters. A computer does. All I do is push the button. I mean, okay, so maybe I was trying to intimidate your friend at first - "

"Wait," Cas said. He tipped his head and stared at the young ride operator. "You were trying to intimidate Dean?"

"Um . . . yeah?"

"You?" he stopped and examined Chad from head to toe with a critical eye.

"Yeah."

"Were trying to _intimidate_?"

"Yeah."

"_Dean Winchester_?"

"Um, yeah?"

Cas pulled out his little red notebook. "I believe I need to make a note of that."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"You know, we've been up here on the roof for a couple of hours now and I don't even know your name. I'm Sam, by the way. Sam, I am. Ha!"

The clown looked up at that and gave Sam a baleful glare.

"That was . . . supposed to be a joke," Sam prompted.

"It wasn't a very funny one."

"Yeah, okay. Right. Sorry. So, anyway, my name is Sam. What's yours?"

"I'm Bobo," the clown said with careful dignity.

"Bobo . . . okay. But, um, don't you have another name?"

"Bobo Z. Bobolink." He caught Sam's look and his expression hardened. "It's my name, okay? It's on my driver's license. I had it legally changed." He shrugged wistfully. "I was so happy that day, finally taking a name I could stand up and be proud of."

"What was it before?"

"My parents named me Merton."

_That explained a lot_, Sam thought. "Okay, so, Bobo it is."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Skeleton Harbor Amusement Park, how can I help you?"

"Hey, listen! One of your clowns is threatening to jump off the roof of the Fun House!"

"Very funny!"

_click_

"Hello?"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"So, what are you? Like, his brother or his boyfriend or something?"

"I'm . . . it's complicated. We have a profound bond."

"What does that even mean?"

Cas made his voice stern. "For one thing, it means I can sense when he is severely annoyed."

Chad laughed hysterically. "Seriously? Dude, _NORAD_ can sense when the guy in the plaid flannel shirt is annoyed! _NASA_ can probably sense when the guy in the plaid flannel shirt is annoyed! There's probably some alien race in a distant galaxy right now going, 'better keep an eye on the little blue planet. The guy in the plaid flannel shirt is pissed!'"

"Actually, that," Cas considered, "is not impossible."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Ooh! Look! They've called in the fire department."

Bobo wandered away from the side of the roof that overlooked the ocean, suddenly more interested in the drama playing out around the base of the Bone Shaker. Sam followed, relieved. Bobo had been talking about his childhood while Sam tried to look interested and worried about Dean.

"The ladder won't reach all the way to the top of that hill, you know," Bobo said. "They'll have to send a couple of the search and rescue guys up with climbing gear and lower the passengers down one at a time. No way they'll get them all down before the storm hits. This is gonna be cool!"

Sam growled to himself and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Bobo sat on the edge of the roof facing the roller coaster, dangling his feet over the side. Sam sat beside him and for several minutes they watched in silence as the fire trucks wound their way through the park and set up at the base of the Bone Crusher. It seemed to take forever. First, they had to wait while maintenance workers took down a section of fencing to let the ladder truck in under the actual coaster, then there was the long slow process of braces extending from the truck frame on both sides, to block it in place. The ladder rose and turned until it was facing the track and came out, section by section, until it had reached its full length. The cars at the top of the hill were still fifty feet above its reach.

_I wish I had binoculars_, Sam thought.

"I wish we had some popcorn," Bobo said.

_I wish I had a taser._

"I bet this is all because of the skeleton," the clown said. "Nothing at this stupid park has gone right since they found that skeleton. I knew they should have reported it."

Sam's head snapped around. "Skeleton?"

Before Bobo could answer, he was interrupted by Sam's phone ringing.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Peachy."

"The fire department's here. Search and rescue's just started climbing up to you. Looks like you're going to have to come down on ropes, at least part way."

"That's cool. One little thing, though. You've got a pretty good vantage point, right?"

"Yeah?"

"So, um, you see any power lines running close to me? Heavy machinery? Something the fire department's got set up maybe?"

"No, there's nothing. The machinery for the lift on that hill is in a machine shed at the base of the track there and the fire department's equipment is all down on the truck. Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. Probably nothing."

"But . . . ?"

"The EMF meter in my pocket just started going off."


	5. Shake, Rattle, and Roll

**Ghost Rider**

**Chapter Five: Shake, Rattle, and Roll**

**Author's note: **First, I want to apologize profusely for the delay in getting this chapter done! All I can say is that real life caught me and I was too distracted to concentrate on anything else. (One thing that distracted me - I went to my first ever Highland Games! I have SO got to come up with a way to put Dean and Sam in kilts! :D) Thanks so much to everyone for the reviews, follows and favorites! :) I really appreciate you sticking with me on this one and I do believe the end is in sight. One, maybe two more chapters at the most.

**Disclaimer:** I am not plotting to take over the world. Only those portions of it which contain Dean Winchester.

**Chapter Five: Shake, Rattle, and Roll**

There were five cars in the train that was stalled at the top of the highest hill on the Bone Shaker. Dean was in the front car, the only one that had started over the top of the hill. Gravity was trying to pull him forward, the lap bar the only thing that was keeping him from plunging to his death. An elderly couple was in the car behind his. The third car held the twelve-year-old playing hooky that he'd met on the Timber Rattler and an awkward teenage girl wearing the same Latin club tee shirt as the two girls from the Dizzie Lizzie. The last two cars held a pair of overweight, middle-aged couples who were obviously together. The teenage girl and one of the middle-aged women were crying and the guy in the last car was milky-pale and looked like he was going to pass out any minute.

Two fire department search and rescue members were climbing up the back side of the hill with heavy coils of rope and lifting gear over their shoulders. The sky was beginning to darken as the storm moved in and Dean could see almost continuous streaks of lightning striking the surface of the sea.

The EMF reader in his pocket was flashing like crazy.

He sighed.

_I am so screwed._

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"What skeleton?" Sam demanded.

Bobo jerked guiltily and shied away. "Skeleton? What skeleton? I don't know anything about any skeleton!"

Sam advanced quickly on the clown, got him by the front of his costume and loomed over him menacingly. "You said, 'I bet this is all because of that skeleton. Nothing at this stupid park has gone right since they found that skeleton. I knew they should have reported it.' _What skeleton?_"

"I can't tell you," Bobo whined. "They said they'd fire anyone who breathed a word of it to anyone! I'll lose my job!"

"You're going to jump off the Fun House," Sam countered. "Dead men don't need jobs."

"But . . . _you're gonna talk me out of it!_"

"Talk you out of it? _Talk you out of it_? If my brother gets hurt because you wouldn't talk to me, I will _pitch you over myself!_"

"But . . . it's not like it even makes any difference! I was just being superstitious. What's a dead skeleton going to do?"

"Listen to me. Remember when I threw salt on you? It's because I thought you were the vengeful spirit of the killer clown who worked here back in the 1930's. Ghosts are real. Monsters are real. And, in the last two weeks, a vengeful spirit connected with this park has killed three people."

"Ghosts are real?" the clown stared. "And people think _I'm_ mentally unstable! Why on earth should I believe that ghosts are real?"

Sam picked him up and shook him like a rag doll.

"_Because I said so!"_

"Okay! Right! That works for me!"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Hello, Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas. How's it going down there?"

"The computer that operates this roller coaster is, as I'm given to understand it, 'fried'. Apparently, a lightning strike somewhere at a distance caused a surge in the power grid that fused the motherboard. I was not aware that computers had mothers, but this is what I am told."

"Well, you know what they say. If motherboard ain't happy, ain't no circuit happy."

"I was not aware that they said that. Who is they?"

Dean sighed. "Never mind. Oh, and don't tell Sam that I said that."

"Very well. At any rate, the fire department is endeavoring to rescue you and I believe Chad is sufficiently cowed. I cannot think of anything else that I can do to help."

"Actually, I do have another job for you, if you're up for it." Dean looked back over at the Fun House, where a tall, familiar figure was engaged in a lopsided wrestling match with a smaller figure.

"Of course. What do you need me to do?"

"Go up on the roof of the Fun House and help Sam save the suicidal clown."

Cas agreed and they both hung up. Dean gazed down at his phone for a moment before tucking it away. _And there's a string of words I never thought I'd put together in a sentence._

Dean's position on the roller coaster was completely indefensible. He ran through, in his head, all the things that could go wrong if he freed himself from his car and tried to climb back up to a more stable perch on the top of the train. He could fall to his death, of course. To get out of the car he'd have to unlock the lap bar that was the only thing holding him up. Doing that without taking a fatal plunge would be tricky, to say the least. He could get thrown off or crushed under or between the cars if they started moving again while he was unsecured. Or, he could get trapped and be struck by lightning before the fire department could free him and get him down.

On the other hand, the spirit was coming and, where he was, he had no way to defend either himself or any of the other people on this ride. Because he was Dean Winchester and danger to others always won out over danger to himself, he set his jaw and started looking for a way to free himself without doing a long pavement swan dive.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"Why is this corridor rotating?" Cas asked the empty air. As an angel, when faced with a conundrum, he could simply think his question. Other angels would hear his thoughts and often one or more of them would know the answer. He felt another small pang of loss every time he realized that didn't work anymore.

He considered the matter on his own. "This makes no sense," he decided. "The purpose of a corridor is to enable one to pass from one location to another. Having the corridor rotate makes this more difficult . . . so there must be a reason for that difficulty." He thought about it. "The corridor is cylindrical. A difficult passage through a cylindrical opening . . . could be a metaphor for childbirth?"

He fortified himself with another peppermint hard candy. His stomach was still a touch delicate and the spinning motion of the space ahead of him was exacerbating that delicacy. Then he gauged his timing and hurried through, staggering as he went and balancing himself on the walls as best he could. At the other end, he emerged into a wide space filled with a dizzying array of distorted mirrors. A thousand Castiels reflected back at him and moved as he moved.

They were short and tall and fat and thin, grotesquely, fantastically distorted. He knew there had to be a path through them, but the way was anything but clear.

_A commentary on human potential at the time of birth,_ he thought. _So many paths to choose, so many possible outcomes._ He moved and the reflections moved with him, shifting and changing. _No way of knowing the right way. There is nothing one can do but experiment, and every move you make alters your perceptions._ He nodded, impressed.

_This is very deep._

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

"I wasn't there! I didn't see it! I don't really know anything!"

Sam looked from the clown in his fists to the broken roller coaster to the dark line of approaching thunderheads. "Tell me what you do know," he growled, "or, so help me God, I will pound you into Silly Putty!"

Bobo whimpered. Sam shook him.

"I heard that, when they were digging out the foundations for the new roller coaster, they found a skeleton in an unmarked grave. You're supposed to report anything like that, and then you have to suspend your operations in that area and wait while they investigate it. And if they find more bodies or, like, old Indian artifacts or anything, then you have to wait some more while state archaeologists do a site evaluation and they contact the tribe and then it's nothing but delays and fees and jumping through hoops for the bureaucrats. Well, the owner didn't want to deal with all that hassle so, instead of turning it in, he swore everyone to secrecy and hid the bones."

"Hid them where?"

"I don't know! I swear! But . . . ."

"But?"

"Well, there is a rumor going around now. You know how there's plastic skeletons all over the park? They say that one of them isn't plastic anymore."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

There was a metal bar running along the top of the back of Dean's seat, but it was too close to the seat back for him to get more than a hand grip on it. He slid his heavy, leather belt off, looped it around the bar and fastened the buckle, then shoved his right arm through the loop and got a one-handed grip on the rail. Picking the lock on the lap bar, even with his left hand, took only a moment. The lap bar fell open, his butt slid out of the seat, and he was dangling by one arm from his belt.

The old lady in the car behind his screamed.

Ignoring her (and her husband's, "oh, my God!"), Dean reached up and got a grip on the bar with his left hand too. Then he pulled himself up, flipped his body over the back of the first car and came to rest balanced on the back of his car with his right foot on the seat of the second car, between the elderly couple. He leaned forward and grasped their lap bar, realizing only too late that his hand was mere millimeters from the woman's crotch, gave her his most charming smile, and wriggled around until he had both feet on their seat. Hooking his toes under their lap bar, he reached back and unfastened his belt, slipping it back through one belt loop and buckling it loosely.

"Excuse me! Coming through!"

Shifting his weight again, he climbed awkwardly between them and came to rest with his butt on the back of their car and his feet on the seat of the car behind them. The hooky-playing twelve-year-old was staring at him in awe (or possibly shock).

"Dude," Dean said, "who's scared now?"

"You're _insane_!"

"That too."

One of the firemen who was waiting down at the top of the ladder had a megaphone and he was shouting at Dean through it.

"SIR! PLEASE REMAIN STILL! WE WILL GET YOU DOWN! OUR FIREMEN ARE ALMOST TO YOU AND THEY WILL _HOLY SHIT! WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS THAT?_"

Dean got his belt free again and took a good grip on the end of it opposite the buckle. _My kingdom for a salt gun,_ he thought.

Midway between the climbing firefighters and the stranded roller coaster train, the specter had appeared.


	6. Bad to the Bone

**Chapter Six: Bad to the Bone**

**Author's Note:** First, I want to apologize for the wait for this chapter! I am so, SO sorry! I've been trying to get some home maintenance done before the cold weather sets in, and it's been taking all my time and energy. And also, to be honest, I've had a touch of writer's block. Thank you all so much for your patience, your reviews, favorites and follows, and for not siccing any psychotic clowns on me to get even with me for the delay. ;) I think this is probably the second-to-last chapter. So, let's see. Where were we again?

**BEGIN SPOILERS! LOOK OUT! WARNING! DON'T READ THIS IF YOU'RE AVOIDING SPOILERS! **

So, as of episode 9-3 this story is officially AU, I guess. You know, I really want Ezekiel to be a good guy, but after this last episode, I really don't know anymore. From a writer's point of view I can see where this development came from. It gives them more latitude to play with Cas experiencing humanity from ground zero, so to speak, it turns the screws on Dean and his tendency towards guilt and self-torment some more, and they can write episodes without Cas without having to explain where he is. That doesn't mean I like it! I'm just tired of the same old plot twists, where Dean is backed into corners, forced to make impossible decisions, and then suffers for them, first by tormenting himself and then by being found out and treated like a villain. Anyway, I'm not happy at this point but I guess there's no good that can come of sitting here bitching about it. I just wanted to acknowledge this story's AUness. Sigh.

**END SPOILERS! YOU'RE SAFE NOW!**

**Disclaimer:** This continuing beautiful weather we're experiencing is not the result of a blood sacrifice. At least, not the blood of anyone who's going to be missed . . . .

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

**Chapter Six: Bad to the Bone**

The ghost, clinging to the rails of the Bone Shaker roller coaster between the stranded cars and the fire department rescue personnel, flickered like static on an old television and looked back and forth between the firefighters and the stranded passengers. It was a woman, Dean saw, with big eighties-style hair, an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, leotards and leg warmers. The skin of her face was sunken and decayed, rotted teeth showing through a rip in one cheek. She reached one skeletal arm towards the nearest firefighter.

". . . didn't save _meeeee_ . . . ."

Dean leaned forward from his perch atop the stranded train and swung his belt in a wide arc. The wrought iron belt buckle passed through the spirit and it flickered and vanished. The fireman turned wide, shocked eyes up to Dean.

"What the hell was that?"

Dean didn't bother to answer the question. There was no time for that discussion right now. "We've got to get off this ride," he said instead. "Hand me one of those safety harnesses and get your rope set up."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions,_ Cas thought.

Presented with two options, a twirling rope ladder and a set of steps, he had chosen the simpler route and started up the stairs. When his foot hit the third step, the stairs folded up beneath him, turning into a slide that took him down two levels instead of up one.

His current choice, though, seemed more straight forward. A door labeled "emergency exit", tucked into the corner of the haunted maze on the fifth floor, had taken him to a short, utilitarian corridor that offered two options. He could go up a ladder that led to a trap door in the ceiling or he could descend a long flight of stairs that led back down into the bowels of the building.

Cas hesitated, knowing he should take the ladder (always raise yourself whenever possible) but curious about what lay in the depths. He was so caught up in the allegory of the Fun House that he'd almost forgotten he was there for a reason, until he heard the familiar, deep tones of Sam Winchester's voice overhead.

Climbing quickly, he emerged on the roof, under a storm-swept sky. He tipped his head back and spread his arms wide, savoring the wind's caress and the feel of the first, fat raindrops spattering on his face.

"And thus one emerges unto heaven!" he proclaimed.

Sam blew past him, face intent, dragging a ragged clown in his wake.

"Cas! Come on! One of the skeletons in the park is a real skeleton. We've got to find which one it is and burn the bones before the ghost gets Dean!"

Reluctantly, he followed them back through the trap door and down the ladder.

Sam shook the clown. "Where's the nearest skeleton?"

"Hell, I don't know! They're everywhere. There's at least a dozen just in the Fun House."

"Then we'd better start looking!"

"Wait," Cas said, grabbing at the clown's arm. "I have to know." He pointed down. "Where do the stairs lead?"

"The fire exit," the clown said, just before he was yanked off his feet and dragged after Sam.

Cas stood for a moment longer, eyes open wide in wonder. "Of _course_," he breathed, enlightened. "The _fire_ exit! Brilliant!"

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Dean leaned back and addressed the elderly lady behind him.

"A'right, sweetheart, I'm gonna put these safety harnesses on you and your husband and we're going to secure them to the ropes that Roy and Johnny, back here, have got set up."

The firefighters snickered at the nicknames.

"I'm Johnny," one claimed.

"Yeah," the other one said. "He falls down a lot and he can't get a second date."

"Shut up!"

The ghost reappeared, right next to Dean, eliciting a chorus of screams from the other passengers. He dispelled her again with a sweep of his belt buckle, almost not even bothering to look at her.

One of the firefighters climbed up next to Dean and between the two of them they made short work of getting the elderly couple harnessed and secured.

"I've got a key to release the lap bar," the firefighter offered as Dean stretched forward.

"Don't need it." The bar fell open and the couple gasped as they slid around on the ropes.

"Whoa! Did you just pick the lock?"

"What can I say?" Dean grinned. "I was a hell of a Boy Scout." He slid as far to the side as he could and let the firemen do their job. His job was to stand guard and dispel the ghost while they evacuated the other passengers.

It was starting to rain now, the water making the bars slick and hard to hold onto. One of the firemen tossed him a climbing belt and he quickly donned it and fastened the safety line around the bar that ran along the seat back he was perched on.

The ghost reappeared behind him and again he swung the belt buckle through her. Her shriek of frustration as she dissipated mingled with the ring tone of his cell.

The caller I.D. showed Sam and Dean answered it reluctantly.

"I'm sitting on top of a big metal roller coaster in the middle of an electrical storm and you call me on the telephone? Are you _trying_ to get me struck by lightning, Sam?"

"It's only landlines that are dangerous in a thunderstorm," Sam said. "Lightning can strike the wires and travel for miles along the phone lines. Cell phones are safe. Well, you know, unless you actually get struck by lightning, in which case all metal in your possession including cell phone components will be instantly superheated, possibly even to the point of vaporization, and cause first-degree burns anywhere they touch you, maybe even setting your clothing or even your body on fire."

"Thank you, Pollyanna!"

"Sorry."

"Listen, Sam, I've seen the ghost. It's Bronwyn Mitchell, one of the Sky Train crash victims. I recognize her from her picture. This coaster wasn't here then, but the sky train rails would have passed real close to here, so I guess . . . ."

"Are you sure it's her? Because Bobo says that one of the skeletons in the park is a real skeleton. They dug it up while they were putting in the foundation for the new coaster and the owner didn't want to wait for the officials to investigate it so instead of reporting it, he hid it in the park. Now, that wouldn't have been Bronwyn's skeleton, but it fits the time line for the deaths. Also, there's no reason to think that the ghost that's killing people ever actually appeared to its victims while they were in the park."

There was a bright flash of light and an almost simultaneous crash of thunder as lightning struck a lightning rod no more than a hundred yards west of their position. Bronwyn appeared directly in front of Dean, bloody tears running from empty eye sockets.

"I keep falling," she moaned.

"I know, darlin'," he told her regretfully, spinning the buckle around to dispel her again. He put his phone back to his ear and Sam was screaming his name, panicked. "Dude, calm down! I'm right here!"

"My god, Dean! I thought you'd been struck by lightning!"

"It hit a lightning rod. And Bronwyn came back, right with the lightning. You know what we've got going on here, Sam?"

"It's the storm," Sam realized. "Paranormal activity always picks up during electrical storms. The electricity in the air powers up the ghosts. Any latent spirits in the area are going to be charged up and active. And this park, with its history - we're going to be swimming in ghosts, you know that?"

"Yeah, tell me about it. Where are you?"

"Still in the Fun House. We've already found eleven skeletons, all plastic, just on the two top floors."

"Okay, well, assuming we don't get struck by lightning, we should be down from here pretty soon. Wait for me there and I'll come find you. Did Cas make it to you?"

"Yeah, he's here."

"Good. Don't let him eat anything else. Keep your heads up and I'll see you soon."

"And you keep your head down. We'll be waiting."

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

Bobo Z. Bobolink was beginning to wish he'd jumped off the Fun House when he had the chance. Giant Sam had a clown phobia? Well, he was beginning to develop a Giant Sam phobia. _And_ a Giant Sam's Weird Little Friend phobia.

The new guy - his name was Cas - was kindly, gently lecturing Bobo on the Importance of Faith and the Precious Gift from God that was Life. It was all pretty standard motivational fare until he started in on the Miracle of the Human Digestive System.

". . . and you can even tell things about your general health based on the color and consistency of your feces."

Bobo tugged on Giant Sam's arm. "Can I go back and jump off the roof now?"

"After we lay the ghost. Where's the next skeleton?"

"There's one on the second floor, in the screwy gravity room."

"Let's go. With luck, maybe Dean will be waiting for us by the time we get down to the entrance."

Bobo turned to Cas. "Is Dean as big and scary as Sam is?"

Cas tilted his head and looked at Bobo inquisitively. "Actually, Sam is usually considered the more polite, easy-going and reasonable of the brothers."

Bobo whimpered. "I want my mommy."

**SPN**SPN**SPB****

As a child, Dean had watched every episode of Emergency! at least ten times. He'd seen Ladder 49, Backdraft, Towering Inferno, Hellfighters, Frequency, Hook and Ladder, and every other firefighting movie he could find. Though he never would have admitted it to Sam, he often thought that, in some other life in another dimension where he wasn't a hunter, he might have been a fireman himself.

When the last chubby, middle-aged guy had been painstakingly lowered from the stalled cars to the top of the ladder, he swung his belt buckle through the Bronwyn Mitchell's ghost one last time and edged between the two search and rescue men who were waiting for him.

"I can climb down on my own," he said, clipping his climbing belt to the line they had established when they first arrived. "Don't dawdle."

Before they could object, he swung out and rappelled expertly down to the ladder. The firefighter standing duty there met him with big, wondering eyes.

"Was that really . . . ? Did we just see . . . ?"

"A ghost? Yup, you did indeed. Don't worry. I don't think that one means any harm."

The firefighters who'd been up top were waiting on him, dangling at the ends of their own ropes, and Dean hooked his feet around the ladder rails and slid down swiftly.

It was raining hard now, droplets pounding into the pavement with such force that they bounced as they struck. Another streak of lightning grounded somewhere nearby and the thunder was deafening. There was a park representative waiting for Dean, a prissy, self-important looking man in a suit and a yellow plastic rain poncho. Dean mentally labeled him "Crossing Guard Penguin Guy". He grabbed Dean's arm and tried to steer him into the nearest building.

"We are so very sorry about the inconvenience," Crossing Guard Penguin Guy said, sounding not sorry at all. "While you realize, of course, that by purchasing a ticket and using the park's facilities, you implicitly indemnify the park for any - urk!"

Dean got him by the lapels and lifted him off his feet, just to get his attention. "What's the shortest route to the Fun House?" Between the storm and the unusual exit from the roller coaster, he was a little turned around.

"Sir, you can't! We're under a storm warning and I'm afraid all guests are required to seek shelter at the nearest - ulp!"

"Fun House?"

"I really must insist that -"

Dean spied a familiar face among the crowd standing in the doorway of the nearest boarding shed, watching the fire department. He dropped Crossing Guard Penguin Guy, snapped his fingers and pointed.

"Chad! Fun House! Shortcut! Now!"

Chad turned pale and pointed.

Dean left.

****SPN**SPN**SPN****

When Cas had claimed that Giant Sam's older brother was even scarier than Giant Sam was, Bobo hadn't really believed him. He had tried to imagine it anyway. He thought maybe this Dean character was a mindless, ruthless thug. Sort of a "punch now and try to think of questions later" kind of a guy. Maybe he was a big, muscular bruiser with a crooked nose and cauliflower ears. Maybe he was the kind of man who poisoned goldfish and kicked puppies.

They reached the entrance to the Fun House just as a lithe, muscular man had burst in out of the downpour, swearing furiously. Giant Sam pounced on him immediately.

"God, Dean! Are you all right?"

"No," Dean snapped irritably. "I got struck by lightning and I'm a human french fry right now. Why do you always ask me stupid questions?"

"Well, you don't have to be an ass about it!"

"Well, you don't have to be such a big girl!"

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

Cas tapped Bobo on the shoulder. "Do not be put off by their apparent bickering. This is how they show their deep and undying affection for one another."

"Thank you, Sally Jessie Raphael!"

"Dean, I do not understand that reference."

Not deigning to explain, Dean turned his attention to Bobo. "Sam? This clown been giving you trouble?"

Bobo shuddered and tried to hide behind Cas. This was not a man who kicked puppies. This was a man who kicked saber-tooth tigers.

Sam noticed his discomfort and smirked. "No, Dean. He's been very helpful, actually."

"Yeah? Well, good. Let's keep it that way." He wrung water from the dangling edge of his flannel over shirt onto the hall floor. "You finished searching in here?"

"Yup. Nothing."

"Of course there's nothing. That would be too easy." He sighed, ran one hand over his short-cropped hair and turned once more for the entryway and the stormy day beyond. "Are you ladies coming? We've got a lot of ground to cover and that ghost isn't gonna gank itself."

**A/N 2: While I'm not making any promises, I will try very hard to get the next chapter up within the next week or so. So sorry, once again, about the long wait for this chapter!**


End file.
